


Texting

by trash_freak



Series: RickMorty Trash Pile [10]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Incest, M/M, Manipulation, Sexting, dubcon, i'm still bad at tagging i guess sorry, in that rick is a bossy shit and morty likes it, morty is pretty into it but this is a Bad Ship so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 23:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_freak/pseuds/trash_freak
Summary: Rick texts Morty.-for anon, who inboxed me forever ago. i didn't forget you, i just got waylaid.for, like, half a year... aNYWAY."what do you think rick's sexts would be like?"





	

Morty is slumped over his desk, pen touching paper, head leaning heavy against the palm of his hand. He’s trying not to fall asleep. He’s been trying not to fall asleep for half an hour since lessons began, trying not to think about the other four and a half classes still on the horizon. He’s been trying not to think about the lonely lunch hour coming for him, two and a half hours away.

Morty’s eyes are just beginning to close when he’s startled awake by a sharp buzz against his thigh. He’s shocked for a second; people don’t text him. They don’t call him, they don’t send him funny links or tag him in posts he might like.

_Don’t think about that,_ he tells himself as he fishes his phone free, a little worried there’s been some kind of disaster and he’s not getting a call about it because who even talks on the phone anymore.

More likely it’s a wrong number. Or his network provider.

Morty glances at his teacher, but she’s done all her explaining and is sat marking homework as the class works through their textbooks. He swipes his phone open beneath his desk and taps at the messaging icon.

Morty nearly drops his phone. He looks around the room wildly as if they might have all seen, switching the screen off and clutching the phone between his hands for fear of it being stolen and the secret getting out.

Then, looking down at the black screen, Morty realises he’s going to have to switch it back on to exit out of his messages. His heart is hammering, paranoia spiking high, but he sits at the back row in this class so no one will be able to see over his shoulder. He takes a calming breath and switches the screen back on, swipes his phone open again.

He was planning on exiting the message as quickly as possible and then spending the rest of the day trying to forget it ever happened, but as soon as it’s back on his screen he can’t help but stare. It’s a photo of Rick from his nipples to the top of his thighs, hand cupping his half hard dick. He’s sprawled on what looks like his bed, propped up against the wall, completely naked, and Morty feels like his face is made of hot coals. 

_‘Just getting into it, wanna watch?’_ appears underneath, breaking Morty’s concentration away from the line of course silver hair running from Rick’s bellybutton down to his pubic hair, and the way Rick’s hipbones jut out, the defined muscle of Rick’s forearm.

Rick sends a video file, and Morty has to struggle not to let out an amused breath. It isn’t a surprise that’s Rick’s as blunt with this as he is everything else. He smiles down at his phone, can’t help it, and throws a quick look around the room. No one’s paying him any attention.

_‘I’m not watching that. I’m in school’_ Morty sends back, thumb hovering over the video file, tempted, so damn tempted.

_‘So?’_ Rick sends back, _‘Mute your phone.’_ And then, so fast Rick’s thumbs must be a blur across his phone’s keypad: _‘Don’t act like you’ve never watched porn on your phone sitting in the living room with your parents and sister on the next couch Morty. It’s not like you were actually doing school work when I texted.’_

Rick’s right on both counts, and Morty finds himself going to his settings and muting everything he can possibly mute. His heart’s still hammering when he taps the file, palms sweating, thumb poised to exit it if it makes even the slightest sound.

The video is short, just a few seconds of Rick’s fingers slowly teasing at his cock, and Morty has to watch it again so he can fully appreciate the way Rick’s thigh muscles bunch up and stretch out as he relaxes further down the bed.

Morty feels like he swallows too loud, he feels like his breathing has picked up suspiciously, but when he looks again around the room no one’s noticed.

Morty closes his messages, locks his phone, and puts it back in his pocket. He shifts in his plastic chair, tries to focus on his textbook, but the letters dance away from him. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? 

Morty’s phone vibrates again in his pocket, makes Morty twitch, but he doesn’t look. Rick isn’t here, and he can’t tell Morty what to do, and Morty really needs to concentrate on his school work.

The phone vibrates a second time, and Morty’s leg is bouncing anxiously. The phone vibrates again.

Fuck, who’s he kidding.

_‘Wanna call you. Wanna hear you try n keep quiet listening to your grandpa jack off’_ his phone screen says, Morty’s wide eyes taking in the little black letters more eagerly than he wants to.

_‘You gonna watch it with the sound on during your break Morty?’_ his phone screen says, and Morty shifts a little in his seat. 

And then, at the bottom, making heat flood through him: _‘You want another?’_

He does, and he hates himself for it.

Morty’s sure he’s breathing too loud now, and he can’t sit still, and he’s getting hard in the middle of geography. The thought of watching the video, earphones in, hidden away in the alcove where he eats his lunch is gradually consuming him, and the need to hear Rick’s voice hits him like a punch to the gut.

_‘Yeah,’_ Morty types, a confession, _‘I want one with you talking.’_ His throat feels tight, lungs seizing up, and he hesitates over the send button, finally taps it, and it’s sent, and he can’t take it back, and he’s freaking out.

Morty fidgets in his seat for the long seconds it takes Rick to reply, and when he finally does Morty’s chest goes loose with such stark relief it makes Morty a little dizzy.

It’s another photo, this one of Rick’s dick, fully hard now, and Morty is overwhelmed with something like pride.

_‘What do you wanna hear, baby?’_ Rick sends, and Morty swallows hard.

_‘I just want to hear your voice’_ he sends back, feeling shame crawling all over him as he tries to subtly adjust his erection.

God, Morty thinks, I’m fucked up, I’m so fucked up, what is _wrong_ with me?

Morty waits, phone clutched tight in one hand, the other gripping his pen so hard it’s leaving an indent in his middle finger, and he’s calmed down a little by the time his phone vibrates.

It’s another video, accompanied by, _‘Just can’t say no to you.’_

Morty’s chest feels as full as his dick, and he has to put his phone away, can’t look at it.

Morty isn’t sure he’ll ever know how he feels about Rick.

His phone vibrates again, and he tries to ignore it, he _tries,_ but he finds himself fishing it out of his pocket again.

_‘You getting shy over there baby?’_

_‘More like frustrated’_ Morty sends back, starting to feel a little bolder. 

_‘Yeah baby like the sound of that. Tell me what you’re doing over there. You squirming around Morty? Trying not to blow your load in the middle of class? Thinking about what I might do to you when you get home?’_

Morty squeezes his legs shut, closes his eyes for as long as he dares, not wanting to be questioned by his teacher. He can feel his pulse in his dick and he could honestly cry right now with how much he wishes he could come.

Fuck it, he thinks, letting his mind wander to home time: knocking on Rick’s door and being dragged inside, Rick lazy by then, having already found satisfaction earlier on and in no hurry.

Morty has to stifle a needy sound at the thought. Rick’s hands gentle, his mouth soft and hot and leisurely. Laying Morty down, undressing him slow, taking his time.

_‘Tell me’_ Rick demands, and Morty can _hear_ it, can _see_ Rick’s stern expression and god help him his dick _jumps._

_‘Yeah I’m thinking about getting home’_ Morty types, shaking all over. _‘I’m thinking about you touching me real slow.’_ Morty’s getting dizzy from the way he can’t stop quickly, nervously scanning the room, from the way he can’t catch his breath. _‘I’m thinking about going to the bathroom right now and watching those videos.’_

He can’t just go, though, in case Rick wants him to wait for it. He wants to be good, and make Rick happy so Rick rewards him when he gets home, so he sends, _‘Can I Rick? Am I allowed?’_

Morty waits, impatient, and it’s a couple of minutes before he gets an answer but it feels like an hour. The wait doesn’t calm him down – the opposite in fact, his dick throbbing – and holding off, not touching, just concentrating on the sensation of _wanting_ feels so good Morty almost doesn’t want it to end. Almost. 

He jumps in his chair at the buzz from his phone, enough that his teacher looks up at him, making him glare down at his work like he’s thinking hard. Either he’s a good actor or his teacher just doesn’t care because when he looks up at her again she’s back to marking papers. 

Morty genuinely can’t help the small noise he makes – has to cover with a spluttered cough – at the silent video with Rick’s leaking dick, a single word beneath it: _‘Go.’_

“M-m-m-miss, I-I really need- could really do with going to the bathroom, please?” Morty stutters out immediately, eyes wide, the heel of his hand shoved down against his erection to try and stave off the orgasm threatening him. 

“You should have gone before class, Mr. Smith,” his teacher says, looking up at him with a stern expression. 

Morty squirms hard in his seat, his face burning, his hand at his dick, and she must think he just _really_ needs to piss because she sighs heavily and relents. “Fine. Hurry up.” 

Morty’s chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he bolts up and out of the room, digging around in his jeans pocket for his earphones even as he’s speeding down the corridor towards the toilets. 

He checks each stall first when he gets there, taking deep breaths as he goes, his knees weak with the worry of being here alone. Distracts himself from sticky sweet helpless anger by thinking of Rick on his knees, looking up Morty’s body with bright, wicked eyes. 

Morty locks himself in a stall once he checks the place is empty, breathes in as deep as his lungs allow, and stuffs his earphones in, hastily unmuting everything he’d muted earlier and grinding his hand once against his dick in the hopes of calming down. The change of setting helped to chase away some of his excitement but he’s still wound tight, and he wants to be able to watch all the files Rick sent without finishing too early. 

The first video is quiet, just the image of Rick’s hand moving slowly, his thighs tensing and relaxing, the faintest sigh, no louder than the shifting sheets as Rick sinks a little further down into the bed. 

Morty shoves the bottom of his shirt in his mouth to try and keep quiet, bites down on it hard. He unbuttons his jeans, eases down the zip, pulls himself free so he can grip tight at the base of his dick the way Rick always does when he wants to keep Morty from coming too fast. He wants to whine, wants to moan and buck his hips; is breathing too heavy to deny what he’s doing should someone come in. 

He re-reads the messages, tries not to cringe at his own replies, focuses on Rick’s words, on the way Rick _wants_ him. Morty is rendered so completely helpless at the way Rick wants him; feels like he’s full of lead and stuck, immobile, every time Rick reminds him. 

He lingers for a moment on the second picture Rick had sent; the contrast between Rick’s mostly soft dick in the video and his full erection seconds later, caused only by Morty replying, admitting what he wants. Morty squeezes harder at the base of his twitching dick, lets the tears spill from his eyes at the overwhelming shame of how utterly easy he always is, the shame of how excited he feels, about to jerk off in his school toilets to videos of his own grandfather. 

The way his whole body shivers at the thought will worry Morty later, but right now he eagerly taps on the second video, wanting to hear Rick’s voice, wanting to _hear_ the want. 

Immediately there’s the slick sound of Rick’s hand working his cock, and Morty pulls too hard on his own dick to make it hurt, to make it last, his breath catching at the sounds Rick is making. A breathy moan, tinny through the cheap earphones, and a small hiccup, a stronger moan, and Rick’s voice, finally. 

_“This wha-what you wanted, M-Morty, you little freak? Fu-uuuck.”_

The clip seems over too fast, and Morty is fumbling to watch the next one when another text comes through. 

_‘Show me Morty.’_

Morty’s eyes skip across the words, the _command,_ three times, four, his skin burning hot at the thought of taking a photo like that of his bony little body. 

God, this is risky. This is so fucking risky, and Rick would definitely be arrested if anyone saw any of this, and Morty barely hesitates. 

He opens his camera with shaky, sticky fingers, and takes three photos before finally accepting he’s not going to get a good one, sends the one he thinks is the least gross, and hopes Rick doesn’t laugh. 

Morty’s scrawny, not lean like Rick, just skinny. With the bottom of his t-shirt shoved into his mouth in an attempt to keep his sounds in, his ribs and hipbones are highlighted by the harsh lighting of the bathroom, his cheeks clearly shiny with tears even through the low quality lens. His erection is shamefully red, dripping, matching his hot, wet cheeks, and everything about the photo is an embarrassing mess. 

_‘Just look at you.’_ Rick sends back almost immediately. _‘So sweet. Have you watched the videos? Don’t come yet baby. I wanna see. You gotta film it.’_

Morty slumps down on the toilet seat, his legs finally too weak to hold him upright any longer. He taps on the last video, and whines at the way Rick’s hips roll up into his tight fist, the stream of pre-come making everything look shiny and smooth. 

He’s not prepared for Rick’s voice, the way his groan of pleasure sounds on the brink of desperate, his words, firm and steady and proud: _‘Morty. Mmmorty. You’re such a good boy for asking.’_

Morty can’t stop the way his dick pulses, and he scrambles to open his camera through the blur, to record himself just as he comes messy and desperate over his fist and exposed belly, whimpering beneath the yellow cotton between his teeth. He makes himself look into the camera, the way Rick likes him to keep eye contact, as he shakes and sobs his way through it. 

He sends it over dutifully, still slouched and sticky on the cold toilet seat, and has just managed to steady his breathing when Rick sends another video. It’s Rick’s face this time, looking insufferably smug and licking come off of his long fingers. 

_“Good boy,”_ he says with a smirk. 

Morty hates him. Morty sits, cold and uncomfortable, trying to clean up with the flimsy tissue paper his school clearly spares no expense on, and a wet patch of saliva at the bottom of his shirt, and he’s been in here too long, and everyone’s going to think he’s got piss on himself instead of drool, and he hates Rick. 

That’s a lie, of course. Morty doesn’t hate Rick. 

Morty hates himself. 

_‘See you at home’_ Rick texts. The bell rings for next lesson. Five more hours to go. 

**Author's Note:**

> jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesus guys i kinda vanished for a while there, huh?
> 
> did you miss me? ;)
> 
> i got an anon on tumblr like half a year ago and started writing this and then? life?  
> so, to anon, forgive me, i love you.
> 
> i'm so out of practice be nice to me  
> also i'm english so if american school timetables are set out different [shrug]
> 
> love you, trash babies, i've missed it here so much!


End file.
